Inspiration
by Gatorface
Summary: <html><head></head>Observation isn't just intrinsic to art, but also to understanding N. Burgh uses this to his advantage. AU-ish, implied N/Burgh. First draft. Please stop by and give some critique, won't you?</html>


Burgh wasn't sure what to expect out of N anymore. He thought himself a good reader of people, since art was as much an act of observation as creation. But N had a flighty, wild quality he couldn't capture or fully understand, some unspoken memory that hid within the young man's heart. It fascinated Burgh.

They walked one of the winding paths through the thickest part of Pinwheel Forest, where the afternoon light looked green and ethereal. The early summer storms had broken the day before but they left the air heavy with the promise (or threat) of more. Even the branches overhead looked weary of the humidity, and the sagging boughs seemed to sigh in the faint breeze. The bug Pokémon were especially active after all the wet weather so Burgh had suggested the outing as a mental break, a way to recharge their creativity and inspiration after so many dreary, homebound days. N had agreed without hesitation since being inside for too long made him antsy, but now he lingered on the edge of the path. He pointedly kept this space between them in public and Burgh had come to accept that. Anyway, it was easier to observe something elusive from a distance.

Burgh spread his arms. "Look how alive the forest is today. You could lose yourself in its excitement, don't you think?"

N smiled and said, "This is how Pokémon are in their natural state. They're elated simply to be alive, I can feel it." He had a distant look in his eyes, a look of remembrance. Burgh had tried to capture that look in the past, sketching on whatever paper he could find before N noticed and closed himself off again, but he hadn't been able to express the nuance and depth of it. He made no move to do so now. Approaching N on an emotional level was like approaching a hurt Pokémon. Knowing when to back off could be his biggest asset.

"They _are_ excited," Burgh said. "Their joy is the wellspring of my inspiration. Just being in this forest is enough to scrub the tarnish off my artistic spirit."

N hummed a general note of agreement, still lost in his own thoughts. They walked in silence for a while. A band of Venipede marched boldly along the path for several yards, their magenta shells shimmering with moisture from the brush, before they disappeared into the thicket once more. The air seemed to hum with the small noises of life. This wordless song resonated through the tree trunks and hung on every shivering leaf. It was the purest song, an electric chant of living and striving and _being_. Burgh inhaled deeply and welcomed the feeling of lightness.

Then he realized he was alone. N stood at the side of the path behind him, focused on something deep in the brush. The young man looked anxious and didn't bother hiding it when Burgh approached him.

"Something wrong?"

"There's a hurt Pokémon somewhere in there. It's calling out to me." Before Burgh could make a suggestion, N pushed his way into the dense brush. Burgh sighed. He admired that headstrong altruism. It was childish, yes, and that made it incredibly sincere. He tucked his sketchpad more safely beneath his arm and followed the path N made. The younger man tracked with the skill and determination he'd expect from a predator on the hunt. Burgh hung back to observe the way his companion paused, listening for that one strained note in the arboreal orchestra around them before he pressed on. His observation wasn't all about curiosity, since N pushed away the sharp, snagging fingers of saplings and unintentionally sent them flying back at Burgh.

They entered a small clearing circled by the same heavy brush on all sides. N slowed as he neared the opposite side and crouched. He pushed the thicket away with slow, measured movements to reveal a panicked Pidove that had taken shelter in an old Deerling bed. It trembled and stared with shocked eyes.

Burgh leaned against the trunk of a massive oak and flipped his sketchpad to a fresh page. N's expression softened once again with that warm, faraway look. He murmured as he reached a hand slowly into the brush to comfort the tiny bird. Golden-green light filtered through the stained glass of the leaves, and it gave him a vibrant, unnatural aura. Burgh sketched without thinking. He tried to create a circuit between his eyes, heart, and hand to capture the essence of the young man's compassion.

Burgh caught a small flutter of movement out of the corner of his eye as the Pidove panicked and pecked at N's finger. A flicker of pain crossed his face—not physical pain but a mixture of sympathy and sadness. He clearly felt the Pidove's fear over his own pain, and it hurt him more than a nip on the finger ever could. N reached in again, still murmuring soothingly. The Pidove calmed beneath his hand and made tiny pained noises. N shuffled forward to get a better look at the bird, blocking Burgh's view into the thicket, but capturing that emotion most concerned Burgh now. N seemed to be reliving some memory that glowed behind his peridot eyes like a tea light in a glass lantern. It warmed his face in a way Burgh rarely saw. For a while, his world shrunk down to that face, that expression, and the paper where he tried to capture it. His attempts so far had been like catching sunlight in a jar, but today the forest's song bolstered Burgh's muse.

After some time, N ducked forward into the thicket. His subject gone, Burgh relaxed, unsure if he should be disappointed or relieved. It was incredibly draining to follow through on such strong inspiration but worth it in the end. He looked at the portrait. That intangible aura wasn't _quite_ there, but it was the closest he'd gotten yet. The eyes were perfect—warm, shining, and kind with a thread of hurt no thicker than gossamer holding it all together. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then despite his misanthropic exterior, despite his ever-unfinished quest and the rampart of disappointment it built around his heart, N held on to some secret happiness. There were stories in that expression that Burgh would never know, but if those memories fueled N's compassion, it was a secrecy Burgh could happily live with.

N emerged with the Pidove cradled carefully in his arms. He gave Burgh a questioning look, and the artist realized he'd been staring. He flipped his sketchpad closed and joined N near the middle of the clearing.

"Your friend looks active, at least. Is it badly hurt?"

"She's young, she'd only just left the nest. A trainer with a Purrloin attacked her and left her." Burgh wanted to interject with some hypothetical defense, but N's expression darkened with anger. It wouldn't be any use to argue now. "She says she can't move her right wing. It looks broken to me, and if I leave her here, she'll die."

"There's a shortcut to a Pokémon Center nearby. I'll show you." Burgh turned to lead the way but N stopped him.

"No. I found her; I can't just abandon her with more people who don't understand the way I do. She's terrified but she trusts me, what kind of person would I be to abandon her? I have to take care of her."

Burgh sighed again, bemused. He really should have expected this. "Then let's go home." He walked ahead of N for a change, holding branches out of the younger man's way until they reached the main path. He expected the same sort of blind determination on their travel home, but to his surprise N gave him a brief, thankful look and slowed to walk beside him.

"Have you found your inspiration again?" N asked.

"You know, I think I have."


End file.
